At The End Of The Day
by Elizabird
Summary: Oneshots, shorts and drabbles based around the X-Men universe. Some will be WIPs - you have been warned.
1. At the End of the Day

He aches, but it's a good ache, seeping into his bones and filling his whole body with happiness. Logan lets his eyes shut and the images trickle across the blackness of his eyelids, trying to trap some of his euphoria before it's gone forever. He aches, but it's a good ache.

There's something about this place. The weather is often erratic, what with Storm's barely-controlled temper, but somehow that doesn't put a damper on how ridiculously peaceful it is. If Logan were to pin it down to one person, it would be _him._ X. The man who started it all. Normally, Logan would be angry that he's being manipulated, but maybe it _isn't_ the Professor. And who cares, when he feels so nice and warm and comfortable and pleasant, tired out in the best kind of way? This is fun.

And it's the feeling of complete bliss he gets when he looks at _her,_ too. At Rogue, who has grown so much from the scared girl in a bar in the back end of nowhere. She fits in here. She walks confidently and she's so happy, so happy, that Logan feels his heart might just burst out of his chest.

And sure, he went.

He left.

And he left because he wanted to get away from the happiness, because he wasn't ready to be peaceful. And he left to find out more. But mostly, he left because he was scared, and he thinks that maybe the Professor knows more than he shows about those few months. How could Logan _not_ be scared? Here, a group of people in a place as close to heaven for mutants as possible, and they wanted the Wolverine in their midst?

But he came back. He came back, and he's never leaving them again.

At the end of the day, there isn't some big decision to be made, or goodbyes to say.

At the end of the day, he can sleep easily, and nothing comes to haunt his mind.

At the end of the day, there's another day dawning.

 **(This is short, but I was listening to Les Mis and feeling happy. Tried to pin that down. Didn't work. Oh, well, I love Logan** ** _anyway._** **So, score.)**


	2. Teenagers

Bodies litter the floor.

The stench of half-clotted blood is thick in their nostrils. Erik sees Charles wince, gag, then try to hide it; he himself stays impassive, lets his face betray none of his emotions. He kneels carefully, running a finger over the upturned table - there are playing cards strewn everywhere, presumably scattered when the table was overturned. The hand nearest to him was close to winning.

And bodies litter the floor.

* * *

 _"I expected better from you," Charles tells her. Raven has spent enough time with people to gauge expressions, and is only glad that he turns around before he sees her wince. She feels a hand at her elbow; Hank, the ever-present, stuttering scientist. All is silent as they walk away, the tap of Erik's heeled boots on the concrete, the low mutterings of Charles to the man who has replaced Raven at his side. The CIA agent - she is irrelevant._

 _"Raven," Hank murmurs._

 _Raven swallows. "Come on. Let's blitz this place. I - we - don't want Charles pissed at us, right?"_

 _"Right," Angel says, but her voice holds the pity Raven so detests, "Okay, Darwin, come with me." Behind Raven the rest of the teenagers Charles has recruited stream out, following the hooker. That's what they are - a gang of misfits and strippers and convicts and drop outs. To Raven's relief, though, Hank stays by her side, not saying anything, just offering his reassuring presence._

 _"We're being ridiculous," Raven whispers._

 _"Hey, c'mon, we're-"_

 _"Being ridiculous," she says sharply, turning around to his open, guileless face, "We're on the verge of nuclear war and we're partying like teenagers?"_

 _"We **are** teenagers," he snaps, frowning at her. "We're teenagers with no training, and our grounds for being involved in this are stupid, useless mutations. I have hands for feet, and that means I can be in the CIA? Charles is-"_

 _"Right. Charles is always right." Raven pulls away and kicks the table, overturning it and spilling the playing cards everywhere. Angel had a winning hand._

* * *

"Is she here?" Charles chokes. "Are they here?" Erik looks over; the professor has his hands over his eyes, leaning against the farthest wall. His breathing is shallow and quick.

Erik casts a cursory glance around the room. "No. Open your eyes. Stop being a coward."

Charles risks a peek, aware all the time of Erik's derisive attitude.

He doesn't see her.

Bodies litter the floor. A deck of cards and an upturned table and the results of a party gone awry. But not the bodies he dreads.

* * *

 _Behind the wall, listening all the while, Erik indulges himself in watching Charles, watching his face, watching his reactions._

 _"Raven," someone says. Hank. Foot-boy. Erik can picture the scene; smashed teenagers staring horrified at the place where the grown-ups just told them to grow up. Where the adults want the kids to abandon their childhoods for war._

 _There's a moment of silence. Charles rolls his eyes at Erik, like it's a bonding thing, like it's something they can all pal and bro about or something. Erik can't. Erik doesn't know how. He just listens and watches. How can Erik empathise with anyone but the people in the next room, people that have done nothing wrong, people who don't deserve the pressure and derision Charles is, however accidentally, putting them under?_

 _"Come on. Let's blitz this place. I - we - don't want Charles pissed at us, right?" That's Raven, sounding ashamed. Erik's eyes don't waver from Charles, who now looks... troubled? Worried? Not as confident and overbearing as he did three seconds ago, anyway, but Erik's always held firm to his belief that Xavier is too damn cocky for his own good._

 _"Right," says someone else, the hooker, whatshername - Angel - and there's a general shuffling of feet and mumbling. "Okay, Darwin, come with me." Darwin. He's the adapting kid, right? Erik listens to the crowd of kids moving out, awkward as they can get, and sees Charles wincing as some thoughts stream through his mind. It must be awful, Erik contemplates, to have to deal with that sort of stuff all the time. People, a constant._

 _"We're being ridiculous," Raven whispers, and okay, so not all of them are gone. Charles is slack-jawed and expressionless._

 _"Hey, c'mon, we're-" Hank. Of course it's Hank. He's infatuated with the girl._

 _"Being ridiculous. We're on the verge of nuclear war and we're partying like teenagers?"_

 _Ouch. That one hits home. That's something Charles said in his most recent annoyed lecture to the group of irresponsible recruits, and Charles is wincing with every word. Raven is sure hammering every point down deep, right? Erik admires her, he really does._

 _"We **are** teenagers. __We're teenagers with no training, and our grounds for being involved in this are stupid, useless mutations. I have hands for feet, and that means I can be in the CIA? Charles is-" Charles is nodding, agreeing, probably not even realising he's doing it. Erik pities him, really - idealogical leaders will never stand for long. But it's Raven's broken retort that **really** sets Charles off. _

_"Right. Charles is always right," says the shapeshifter, and there's the sound of a kicking table._

 _Charles chokes._

* * *

"This shouldn't have happened," Erik says carefully, kneeling once more to shut the eyes of a still, lifeless guard. "This wasn't meant to happen. And I will find him and I will _kill him_ and I will make this _right."_

Charles nods, white-faced, already at the door. "We need to find them."

* * *

 _"We need to find them."_

* * *

 _"Why, when it's just you and I, just you and I and a whole room full of shiny, shiny knives?"_

* * *

"I'm not - woah, Charles, stop-"

"I'm sorry-"

"Charles-"

"I really am."

"Why-"

"Shut up, Raven, we're bonding, here."

* * *

 **This is an unfinished, never-to-be-finished short from First Class. Just tacking it on to this as another oneshot.**


	3. Teenagers: Round 2

**This is written because a) who needs sleep, b) that last chapter could be really developed into something more, and c) rebecca-in-blue and hippiechick2112 both pointed out good-ish bad-ish things. (Thanks for the reviews, btw.) So, onward. (Also the cards thing and Erik needs more exploring because Erik is my actual baby son.)**

* * *

Bodies litter the floor.

The stench of half-clotted blood is thick in his nostrils, bitter and sharp, a reminder of all he's escaped. Of all he's trying to escape. Sometimes he wonders if he's put through things like this just to remind him that he doesn't deserve a life away from war and bloodshed? He pushes the thought away; the last thing Erik needs right now is Charles panicking more than he already is.

They move further into the room. Erik sees Charles wince, gag, then try to hide it; he himself stays impassive. He feels Charles in his mind, all barriers down, horrified and shocked and full of terror. Should Erik be like that? Has he really let himself become so callous?

Charles staggers against the nearest wall, fingers scrabbling for purchase, some sort of grounding anchor to the real world.

Erik wants to provide, but stops himself just in time. He kneels carefully, instead, running a finger over the splashes of blood and alcohol covering the floor and the upturned table. The wrapper of a bar of chocolate crunches beneath his heel. He runs measured eyes over the whole room, not allowing emotion to cloud his view; at the table, playing cards are strewn all over the floor.

The hand closest to him was winning.

He wonders who it was.

* * *

 _"I expected better from you," Charles tells her, his face hard and unforgiving. Raven is only glad he turns around before he sees the flash of hurt, the wince, on five hundred different faces all at once. She feels a hand at her elbow, a soft comfort; Hank, the ever-present, stuttering scientist. Like her. Uncomfortably aware of how much his mutation - hers - makes them an outcast in society.  
_

 _All is silent as they walk away. Charles, his arms swinging confidently, and the tap of heeled boots against the concrete. Erik. The man who has replaced Raven at Charles's side. Even as she watches, Charles mumbles something in his ear, laughing._

 _"Raven," Hank murmurs. No pity in his voice. Be grateful for small mercies._

 _Raven swallows and lets go of the blonde, beautiful face she was wearing. "Come on. Let's blitz this place. I -_ we - _don't want Charles pissed at us, right?"_

 _"Right," says Angel, and_ there's _the pity Raven so detests. The other girl beckons, "Okay, Darwin, you lot, come with me. We'll go find - uh - Moira." Behind Raven the rest of the teenagers Charles has recruited stream out, following the hooker. That's what they are - a gang of misfits, of strippers and convicts and dropouts and freaks. This is Erik's dream army, this is Charles's dream of mutant society, this is Moira's dream fighting squad._

 _This is Raven's nightmare._

 _To Raven's relief, Hank doesn't leave with the others. He doesn't say anything, either, he just_ is. _He exists to be._

 _"We're being ridiculous," Raven whispers when she's sure no one is in the room except Hank._

 _"Hey, c'mon, we're-"_

 _"Being ridiculous," she says sharply, turning around to his open, guileless face. The sight of his wide eyes, magnified by the bottle-top glasses, sends a pang of regret through her heart. She may deserve this; Hank, people like him, especially him, he doesn't need this. She scowls, "We're on the verge of nuclear war and we're partying like teenagers?"_

 _"We_ are _teenagers," he snaps, frowning at her. "We're teenagers with no training and no military experience, and the reason the CIA has pulled us into this mess is stupid, useless, mutations. Darwin drove cabs 'til three days ago. I have hands for feet, and that means I can go up against an insane German psycho? Charles is-"_

 _"Right. Charles is always right," Raven says dully, pulling away. Filled with anger, she lets out a short scream, kicking the table, overturning it and spilling cards, drinks and food all over the floor._

 _Darwin had a winning hand._

* * *

"Is she here?" Charles chokes. "Are they here?" Erik looks over, a scathing remark on his lips; the professor has his hands over his eyes, leaning against the farthest wall, his breathing shallow and quick. It's a childish image, one that's set at such contrast to the Charles Erik has gotten used to.

He pushes the thought away. Casts a cursory, cutting search around the room. There are guards, yes, but no one else. "No. Open your eyes. Stop being a coward." At this point, there is no time for sentimentality _or_ reassurance. Erik would like to be kind, but harsh words often work when pleading won't.

Charles risks his own look, aware all the time of Erik's derisive attitude.

He doesn't see her.

A deck of cards and an upturned table and the results of a party gone awry.

Bodies litter the floor. But not the bodies he dreads.

* * *

 _Behind the wall, leaning nonchalantly against a chunk of broken statue and listening all the while, Erik indulges himself in watching Charles. The professor may think he's won; Erik is looking forward to knocking him down a few pegs. Charles is looking at him as though Erik will approve; as though Erik could possibly support stripping children - yes, children, they are little more than - taking away their childhoods, forcing them to grow up? To stare at the spot where someone told them to abandon their innocence? Welcome to the real world? Some of them are fourteen._ Fourteen. _Erik was fifteen. He tenses his fist around thin air in memory._

 _"It's time they grew up a little," Charles mumbles, sensing Erik's gaze on him, sensing Erik's mind focussed on the last exchange. Sensing how perhaps-not-all-that-pleased Erik is. "They can't live like this for much longer."_

 _"You're forcing them to grow up," Erik says under his breath, falling silent under Charles's poisonous glare as someone in the other room speaks._

 _"Raven," someone murmurs. It's that scientist, the one that reminds Erik of his late friend Pietro in the camp. (He told Magda, before they were forced apart, he told her to name at least one of them Pietro. One of their - whatever.) Hank. Hank. The scientist is called Hank._

 _"Right," says one of the new recruits, and there's a horrible tone of pity in her voice. She's the one from the strip club. Angel. Erik knows that, if he were in Raven's position, he'd hate that voice aimed at him. "Okay, Darwin, you lot, come with me. We'll go find - uh - Moira." There's the sound of nods and the door swinging on slightly creaking hinges._

 _There's a space._

 _Charles doesn't look as cocksure as he did a moment ago, that's for sure._

 _Erik tries not to feel smug._

 _"We're being ridiculous," Raven whispers once the door has stopped swinging. Is she speaking to herself?_

 _"Hey, c'mon, we're-" No. Of course Hank would stay. Erik smiles happily to himself, secretly glad that the two of them have found each other. People that won't alienate._

 _"We're being ridiculous," Raven interrupts him sharply, and there's a rustling of cloth against cloth. Is she turning around? Erik, with nothing to go on but Charles, frowns. The other man looks horrified. "We're on the verge of nuclear war and we're partying like teenagers?" And ouch, that's got to hurt a little, Raven parroting a recent speech of Charles's right back at them both._

 _"We are teenagers," Hank retorts. "We're teenagers with no training and no military experience, and the reason the CIA has pulled us into this mess is stupid, useless, mutations. Darwin drove cabs 'til three days ago. I have hands for feet and that means I can go up against an insane German psycho? Charles is-"_

 _"Right. Charles is always right." Raven's tone is defeated. Charles's face is the picture of horror - what have I done - and regret. Erik frowns a little, but doesn't say anything; this isn't his area._

 _Raven screams. There's the sound of a boot hitting wood, and that wood hitting the floor, and everything scattering everywhere._

 _"C'mon," says Hank quietly._

 _The door swings on its hinges one last time._

 _Charles looks shocked, gaping like a particularly unattractive fish._

 _Erik wishes he could say any of this is satisfying._

* * *

"This is my fault," says Charles distantly over Erik's head. "If we had just stuck together-"

"It's done. What's done is done and worrying about it isn't going to save anyone." Erik has no time for babbling self-pity; he kneels, carefully shutting the eyes of one still guard. Blood leaks from his stained lips.

Charles continues in panicked obliviousness, "I should have told her - should have stayed - should have been less harsh - what have I done? _What have I done?_ Raven - I - and all of them, those kids, Hank and Alex and Sean and Angel and Darwin and everyone and it's all this, all this, all this could have been _avoided-"_

"Charles!" Erik roars, standing and letting bullets, previously lodged in the chest of the guard, fly out of the dead flesh and circle his head. "Charles, you can apologise to her once we find them. To find them, you need to be completely functional. You are a _telepath._ Use your ability. I promise to you I will not stop until I kill the man responsible for all of this, but you need to shut up."

Without looking to see if Charles follows, Erik sweeps out of the wreckage.

Charles trips after him, stepping in a warm puddle of someone else's blood, gagging and then slipping on an ace of spades lying by the table.

The cards scatter further, the winning hand unrecognisable any more.

* * *

Darwin is dead.

Angel is gone.

Darwin is dead.

Angel is gone.

Erik stands well away from the tiny huddle of defeated mutants. He also stands well away from the separate huddle of government agents. And that's how they are, how they will always be; Humans, Mutants, and Erik. Not human enough. Not mutant enough. (Not mutant enough to be a part of Charles's utopian dream.) (Mutant enough for Shaw.)

Darwin is dead.

Angel is gone.

Erik keeps thinking about those damn cards. They were on Darwin's side of the table. Two more moves at the most, the adapter would have won the game.

He's overcome by an emotion that's so stale, he takes a moment to place it.

Sorrow.

He thought that had all gone from him years ago, burned away to be replaced by red-hot anger. The sorrow is a soother, bittersweet, a blue liquid pounding through his veins and calming the fire. Erik finds his gaze drawn as though magnetized to the group of mutants; Charles and Raven, the former locking the latter in a tight hug and looking like he's never going to let go; Hank, his hands pressed to his eyes, his glasses hooked in his collar; Sean and Alex, Sean sobbing and screeching on Alex's shoulder.

Charles looks up, meets Erik's eyes.

 _Come here, my friend._

Erik waits. Because Darwin is dead and Angel is gone and didn't he deserve to die and didn't he deserve to go, far, far more than those two children did?

 _Do not blame yourself, my friend._

Darwin is dead. It is his fault. Angel is gone. It is his fault.

 _It is mine._

It is mine.

"Erik," Raven says, hands held out. Voice raw. "Come here. Please."

 _It is **his**_ _fault._

"Now you think like me," Erik says to Charles, surprised to feel moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes. Sorrow. Regret. Darwin is dead. Angel is gone.

Charles chokes out a tearful sob and buries his head on Erik's shoulder.

* * *

"What's that, my friend?" Erik asks curiously.

Charles, sitting on the veranda with his eyes closed, stops humming. "It's a song from an old musical I went to a few years ago with Raven," he says quietly.

"What is it?" Erik sits beside the professor, but carefully. They've all been touchy in the days since they've moved to the mansion.

Charles grins. His smile is melancholy. "Do you hear the people sing, singing the song of angry men, this is the voices of the people who will not be slaves again. It's from Les Miserables. It's very good." He breaks off, awkward and silent.

Erik nods. "I like it."

Charles closes his eyes. "Please, feel free to stay, my friend."

Erik does, his mind twirling with songs from his own childhood, lilting folk tunes in the language he will never speak with a clean conscience again.

And they sit.

* * *

Erik wanders silently into the library to check on the children.

They are playing cards. They don't see him as he peers through a crack in the bookshelves.

Raven has a winning hand.

* * *

 **Hopefully this one is a bit better than the last one. Erik is such a wonderful character to write with. Oh, and Les Mis is there too, because Les Mis is awesome. And this is way sadder than the Logan chapter. I'll make up for it soon. Reviews always appreciated, and thanks for reading!**


	4. Boop

**Answer to rebecca-in-blue: I didn't actually know that about when it was written, but I don't think I'll change it - I do care about historical accuracy about media and songs and stuff like that, but seeing as this was originally going to be a one-shot based off LM, I'm just going to leave it. (Thanks for the review, by the way!)**

* * *

"Wade, why the fuck are you even still here?"

"That is not nice. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Logie-Wogie?"

Logan resists the urge to punch Deadpool in the face. Satisfying as it would feel, Logan knows as well as anyone that Wade will just fix his nose back into place and then, as payback, hang around to annoy everyone even longer than he originally planned to. "Wade, just go away, jesus. I am not in the mood."

Deadpool, hanging from the swinging light fixture, lowers his body down, his face right up to Logan's. "Aww, did someone give Logie a boo-boo? Boop!" He prods Logan's nose, giggling wildly.

Okay, so there's only one reason why Deadpool would be here, in Logan's bedroom, at three in the morning, hanging from the lamp and cackling like an insane witch.

It's the reason Deadpool _lives,_ practically.

He's bored.

"Hey, though, seriously, Logan, the boxes want to know if you want to go and kill some bad guys." Wade turns upside down and lands on Logan's bed in a crouch. (Personal _space,_ Wade, c'mon!)

"Bad guys like guys that pissed you off one time, or bad guys like guys that are bad, or bad guys like guys you've been paid to kill?" Logan asks, not really needing to know the answer. Wade wouldn't come to him if it was a paid job - that would mean less money for whatever the hell it is Wade spends his money on. Nope, Wade is bored and okay, so Logan might be a little stifled in this school, and he just _knows_ he's going to end up going with Deadpool.

"Bad guys that are bad. Obviously. I'm a reformed citizen now. I don't kill people anymore. Much. Boop." Wade prods Logan's nose again, and it's really impressive, how a red mask and two holes can look so obviously innocent. In a bad way.

Logan pulls a t-shirt over his head. "I hate you, Wade, you know that?"

"Aw, man, why? I - no, shut up, I hate beans - I love you! Me and Spidey are Amazing Friends and me and you are Canada Friends. I got it aaall worked out. See?"

Logan narrows his eyes. "You get me arrested, I _will_ find you. And I will make it the hardest thing ever to regenerate once I'm done with your ashes, buddy, believe me."

Wade winks. "Then it's a date, honey."

* * *

 **(Written six months ago, not very long. Doesn't make sense. Don't know what it was going to lead up to.)**


	5. Smiles

When he wakes up, Erik is still scared sometimes. He always wakes before Charles, a blessing he will never stop being grateful for.

He's scared that all this will be a dream. Back in that place, he used to dream for years, his mind trying desperately to stave off waking up. He used to dream that he escaped, found his family somehow alive and well, and ran away to America where they lived in calm, middle-class peace, where he didn't have to be angry all the time, where he could help instead of hinder.

Every morning, he's afraid the dream will have ended.

Every morning, it isn't.

He wakes up at six like clockwork, purely because that's what time he's woken up at for twenty-five years. Beside him Charles sleeps on soundlessly, heavy and unwakening, and how can Erik begrudge him that when sleep is the only time Charles is at peace?

Erik pinches his wrist hard enough to bruise. Every morning. Like clockwork. At one point, Charles was convinced Erik had some sort of weak wrist disorder, until Erik told him in no uncertain terms to _get his long nose out of my business._ Satisfied that, for today at least, the dream isn't over, Erik lies back down and lets himself sink into the sea of fluffy pillows, more comfortable than anything he's ever felt in his life. He doesn't go back to sleep. He just bathes in the luxury of lying down and relaxing.

At seven thirty, Charles wakes up only because of his shrill alarm clock, and Erik pretends to wake with him.

At eight, breakfast is served. On the days it's Erik's turn to cook breakfast he won't bother relaxing for that extra hour and a half - he'll go downstairs and to Charles's huge library, to the cookery section, and pick the most exotic cookbook he can find. He'll make his way through the breakfast section of that book, which is usually Italian or French, and if Charles has ever noticed the untouched pile of German and Austrian books at the shelf, neither he nor Erik ever mention them.

When he cooks breakfast, he does it in silence. He knows that Sean and Alex both listen to music while they flip eggs, and Raven dances her way around the frying pans, and Hank plays pop music as loud as he can, and even Charles hums merrily, but Erik does it in quiet.

He can never get enough quiet.

Fair enough, though, to the others. They like to decorate their time, just like Charles likes to hang beautiful pictures everywhere. Noise is decoration, but Erik has always been minimalist. He's never really had the opportunity to be quiet for so long before, and it's bliss.

On those mornings, surprisingly, Raven will join him fifteen minutes or so before the others do. She's more blue these days, less blonde, and every time Erik sees her he compliments her eyes, her hair, her pretty, heart-shaped face. It's true - the first two weeks he does it, she bats his compliments away with a distrustful scowl, but now she smiles and thanks him and wanders around just as she was meant to. Free.

And now, let the story begin.

"Good morning," says Charles sleepily. Erik fakes a yawn and a stretch, but his happy smile is all too real.

"Morning," he returns, not bothering to throw back the covers. "Did you sleep well?" It's not a question. Charles sleeps like the dead. That's another, newer, recurring nightmare of Erik's.

"I did," Charles smiles blissfully, burrowing further under the sheets. "Did you?"

"Always," Erik lies through his teeth. Maybe a few months ago Charles would have picked up on that, but by now Erik has learned how to hide from the telepath's gentle presence. Not that Charles would ever invade his mind against his will; Erik just needs to protect him from some of the more horrifying parts of his mind.

"We should get up." Neither of them move an inch - they both laugh softly.

"You know what this reminds me of?" Charles says comfortably, shifting around and pulling the sheets off just a little, "This reminds me of those TV shows Alex is obsessed with. The ones where Cheryl is in love with Darren's sister's boyfriend Earl, who's secretly working for Sharlene-"

"Alex obviously isn't the only one that's obsessed, my friend," Erik teases.

"Mm." Charles is silent for a second, soaking up the moment that is so private and so prized. "Shall we get up? Raven is doing breakfast."

"Mm."

Erik is the first to wrench himself out of bed, pulling off his loose nightshirt in favour of a thin cotton one in one fluid movement. Charles doesn't comment on it, never has, but he _has_ noticed; Erik sees how he turns away every time, giving Erik the privacy he needs. He still doesn't sleep shirtless. A part of him, the rational part, knows that Charles would _never_ judge him on things he couldn't control, but baser emotions - strong, near the subject of Charles - tell him to _play it safe, don't let him see, he won't like it, won't like you, won't won't won't -_

He pulls on a pair of trousers and only then does Charles look around, pretending that his averted eyes were something completely natural.

Another thing Erik will never stop being grateful for.

"Hank is plotting," Charles remarks as he's buttoning his shirt. He always takes forever to do each button, and that's not mentioning the one time he had to wear a tie to a press meeting. Erik had to tie it for him, which was unbearably domestic of him. He;s never been domestic with anyone before.

"And when Hank plots, we don't see you for days," Erik says jokingly. _Jokingly._ Even acting that way takes an effort, and he surprises himself every time. "Come on, let's go before someone eats the egg with my name on it."

Charles smiles at him warmly. "Let's."

The thing _is,_ Erik thinks as they walk down the red-carpeted stairs, the thing _is_ that they haven't named this yet. They sleep in the same bed, they spend almost every moment together, they've built a rapport that's surpassed even Raven's relationship with Charles, but they haven't said anything except that this is something that is far more than mere friendship.

"Morning," says Raven cheerily as they walk into the kitchen.

"Heya," Alex mumbles, eyes half shut as a piece of egg flops from his fork into a puddle of yellowy yolk on his plate.

Sean giggles.

"'Sup, Professor?" Hank smiles.

"Morning," Charles beams back, and at his side, Erik can't help but lift his spirits in response.

 **A.N**

 **Wrote this back in 2013, so it's either terrible or great. Thanks for reading, and reviews are always appreciated!**


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